


cruel summer

by yerimoney



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: F/F, LOOOOOOOOOTS of unresolved tension, Morally Ambiguous Character, Murder, Rivalry, Serial Killers, and begins her slow descent into apathy / loss of sanity, morally ambiguous protagonist is fascinated by obvious antagonist, sort of??, whilst desperately trying to hold onto to the strings of reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24856612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yerimoney/pseuds/yerimoney
Summary: irene makes the worst mistake of her life, in the humid ghost of a summer.
Relationships: Bae Joohyun | Irene/Park Sooyoung | Joy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	cruel summer

_and_ _i_ _screamed “for whatever it’s worth,_ _i_ _love you-_ _ain’t_ _that the worst thing you ever heard?”_

irene first meets joy inside a bar. or rather, she’s in the bar and she sets her eyes on a woman she doesn’t know. but feels like she should. 

because she’s staring back. dark eyes, dark hair, dark clothes. the black dress leaves no space for covered skin, milky white and seemingly soft to touch. she’s standing on the lane opposite the bar, the only thing separating them being the windows and the wide, wide road. 

she grins. irene says nothing, unable to tear her gaze away or swallow the lump in her throat. 

“another drink, miss?” the bartender asks. 

her fingers curl around the glass and squeeze tighter as she continues to stare. her stomach churns. 

(she doesn’t know yet that she’ll always feel like this around joy.) 

“miss?” he asks again. 

and as her dread increases, forthcoming, she struggles to decide whether to let it out of her throat when the woman pulls someone off the street and pushes him to the road. 

she loses her grip as the man falls to the ground and a truck runs its wheels over him. 

irene almost loses her composure and falls to the ground, bile rising up tasted on her tongue. the chair tilts over but she puts a hand on the table, effectively stopping it. a hoarse sound emits from her mouth – uninvited, wanting, terrified. 

(that’s what everything about joy is, she supposes.) 

she doesn’t know whether to puke or cry out for help, but it doesn’t matter, she supposes – when she looks up and the truck has passed with a bloody mess trailing behind and a man’s carcass on the road, the woman is gone. 

everyone starts to scream. 

\- 

“who is she?” joy asks. 

wendy clicks her tongue as she swipes the screen of her tablet, walking around the bed. “you gave me the vaguest description, don’t expect me to actually find a person i’ve never seen.” 

she lies back on the bed, stretching her limbs. a smile makes its way to her mouth, making her close her eyes for a moment. “that sounds romantic, doesn’t it? finding a person i’ve never seen.” 

the sparks behind her eyelids dance as she hears the other woman snort. there’s a shift of weight at the edge of the bed, indicating that she’s sat down. “but also,” joy says slowly, “i sketched her for you. i think that’s specific enough.” 

“your sketching skills are the equivalent of a toddler’s ability to speak,” wendy retorts. “you really expect me to use it?” 

“a toddler’s ability to speak is moderate,” she protests. “why don’t you use it first and see what happens instead of being unconcerned.” 

“and why should i be concerned-” 

_“just. do. It.”_

(in hindsight, she never should have insisted.) 

there is a certain thrill that hums through her bones, one that she’s not particularly repulsed to. and when wendy finally speaks again does it truly spark. 

“her name is irene bae.” 

this time, when she grins, she means it. “irene,” she tastes the name on her tongue. “anything else?” 

wendy sighs. “i hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.” 

she doesn’t know, but it must be worth a try. she spends the night convincing herself of this, because irene’s gaze keeps replaying in her head, and something tells her she should be afraid. 

\- 

the next time they meet, irene can’t tell whether it’s an accident or not. she’s only here to attend the brunch event, but she quickly makes conclusions that it’s more than that for the woman. 

joy is her name, she learns. initially she thinks it’s jooyoung when she sees it printed on the tag. 

“may i have your order?” she asks. 

irene peels her eyes away from the menu and looks up, and easily regrets it. because now, she can’t look away. 

dark eyes, dark hair, white suit. the nametag glistens in the light. 

it seems like the woman can’t look away too, because her mouth opens but no words come out, and now they’re both stuck in place. a moment of heavy static in the midst of moving bodies and unceasing noise, and irene starts to think this is way too dangerous a way to start a game. 

this is the same woman who pushed a man onto the street to let him be run over like a rag doll, and irene should stay away. 

“is your name jooyoung?” she asks instead. 

the shock in her eyes, subtle, changes into a twinkle of amusement. then it’s gone, replaced by professionalism and one of the sweetest voices she has ever heard – “joy, you mean.” 

(irene is afraid she will stare into those eyes all night, trying to figure out what lies underneath. there is so much – an appetite for violence mixed with subtle observance, menacing yet shy, nonchalant yet careful. she didn’t know that could exist before.) 

“may i have your order?” joy asks again, clicking her pen and turning her head to her notepad. it’s the same as a train taking off when the wind _whooshes_ in your ears – the moment is gone. 

“you don’t work here,” irene concludes with caution. 

the other woman writes something in her notepad. “just a bottle of the usual, i suppose. anything else?” 

“no, i don’t-” 

“i’ll pay,” joy suddenly grabs for her hand. it’s difficult to tell whether she’s caressing it or pinning it to the table. but her hands are so, so warm, and irene tries to not lose her breath. 

the waitress gives her a dazzling smile. “all i ask is the favor of staying quiet.” 

her stomach churns and she hasn’t even eaten yet. regardless, joy moves away, tending to the other guests. she watches her as she moves from table to table, following the edges of her arm, the curvature of her smile, and blinding white of her shirt. 

as she slips into the stairway that she knows leads to the basement, she pushes the cry down her throat and keeps it to herself. the wine arrives only a few minutes and she downs it as quickly as possible, glass after glass, aftertaste after aftertaste. when her head starts to spin just a little, she calls for the check and walks out after paying, the lapels of her coat feeling all too heavy. 

the next day another man’s face appears on the tv screen, this time a running politician with an abundance of votes. and when seulgi visits and tells her how scary it must have been to have brunch where she did, she only nods once, eyes fixated on the screen. 

“did you see anything suspicious?” she asks, out of pure concern. 

irene shakes her head. “no,” she replies, curling her fingers around the wine bottle she should’ve thrown out long ago. “not at all.” 

\- 

joy does not expect to meet her a third time. 

(this has many ways to look at it – she never expected her to be in the same clothes store as she was that day. however, she did decide to move the killing a little early in her schedule once she saw her go into the fitting room.) 

it’s easy to coerce the boy into entering the fitting room – none of the staff here have an actual uniform asides from black tees and jeans, and he is way too careless. a grip on his arm and a teasing smile later, he follows her into fitting room, bringing way too many clothes for one to afford. they walk into one of the stalls in the secluded part of the room, and he’s trapped once she locks the door. 

he pushes her up against the wall, mouth wet and hungry. when she turns him around and trails her hand up his chest, she can feel him smile against her lips. 

she gets to work by taking his shirt off first, throwing it to one side. she hums disapprovingly when his hands reach for her zipper, swatting it off. she pulls away but stays close enough so he can feel her breath. “not yet,” she giggles. 

she hears another lock click outside, and she presses her lips to his again, this time letting his tongue explore hers. when he laps the pill up from underneath her tongue, she smiles back. 

they stay like this for a while before she feels him stiffen. she pulls away again, putting on a look of innocence. “is everything okay?” 

he blinks, a hazy look in his eye before he says, “yeah, i’m fine-” 

he collapses to the ground and starts to convulse, coughing and foaming at the mouth. she crouches down, furrowing her eyebrows. 

she can’t see his eyes. she needs to see them. 

so she turns him around, barely struggling against his shaking and retching. she props him up against the seat in the center of the room, and watches as eyes shift around way too fast. he opens his mouth but only spit comes out, which is disgusting at the least. 

“i need you to look at me,” she states matter-of-factly. “can you do that for me?” 

his gaze frantically searches hers. she’s pleased by it and a polite smile comes to her lips. 

“good. now i need you to be quiet.” 

(technically her work is done, the pill should be more than enough to kill the boy. but she hasn’t heard the other door open yet, and she wants irene to see her so bad.) 

she has to hold a hand to his mouth to muffle his screams as she slices his body open, blood splattering her face and onto the ground. god, dirty work is so… dirty. the body opens cleanly, the flaps of the body parting to show everything underneath – intestines, organs, bountifuls of blood. 

she does no more work and leaves him there, being smart enough to not be caught. she grabs his clothes and bundles them up, hugging them as she slides the lock open and pushes the door. 

no more a second later does the door opposite open, and out comes _her_. 

and there they are again. joy has never felt fixation as strong as this: it literally pins her feet to the ground and leaves her mouth dry. for once, she has to resist the urge to not run. there’s that rush of blood in her ears again, and she blames it on this undeniable tension she can observe. 

the woman is petite but her eyes are oh-so piercing, and joy wants to say she’s not entranced. 

“you-” irene starts, but she falters when she looks behind her. her eyes shift and widen immediately. joy almost grins. 

“oh my god,” she hears her whisper, a thought more than a statement. 

“he’s pretty, isn’t he?” she enquires playfully. 

irene looks back at her, and she looks positively _horrified_. 

“you killed him,” she stresses bewilderedly, almost letting out a laugh at the end. (the kind one makes not out of amusement, but pure disbelief.) “ _is he pretty?_ he looks as pretty as a corpse put up in a museum.” 

joy steps closer. “and that’s not your thing?” 

the shorter woman scoffs, “brutal murder? wow, that is definitely something to think about-” 

“you certainly thought about it a lot when you saw me in the bar.” she takes another step, this time making irene step back into the stall. and whatever that keeps them gravitating towards each other increases as joy locks the door. “why didn’t you say anything?” 

she hesitates, as if the next words that slip out of her mouth are a crime. “would it have made a difference?” she settles for instead. 

she shrugs. “not really. maybe.” 

irene takes a step of her own. it makes joy painfully aware of the height difference – this woman is a lot shorter than her and that should make her laugh, but she keeps mum. “you’re a murderer,” irene spits. 

“that’s a very vague way to put it,” another step. at this point, she’s invaded into her personal space, and she tries not to imprint every feature of her face into her brain (it’s a natural instinct). 

she doesn’t cower, but instead does the same. 

“why him?” 

“does he matter to you?” 

one more step and they are way too close for comfort, bodies almost pressed together. joy immediately takes note of irene’s perfume, which is only lightly scented. neither of them back down, and there is just something about that that pulls her in even more. 

(this is only a match in the game, and she already loves it with every thrill that runs through her bones.) 

the timer rings and she’s the first to pull away (the angels are weeping, a shame, a loss). she turns away from her and opens the door. “you’ll want to get out. they’ll find him in another five minutes, and we’ll be the suspects.” 

irene doesn’t move, stuck in place. “but you are the suspect,” she rejects. “you’re the damn culprit.” 

it is a little annoying, she’ll admit, but it’s not like she has the heart to leave. 

she turns back and leans in once again, making sure they’re close enough until all she can see is irene’s face. “you have two options,” she offers. “first, you report me to the police. tell them all about it. i got him to a secluded stall, kissed him and slipped him poison. then i slit his body open while he stared at me right in the eyes for-” she stumbles on her next words. “- for my own entertainment. report me, and this is all over. you can go home after being at the police station for two long, boring hours and talking to two old, creepy men. 

“or,” she continues. she dumps the clothes on her arm to the floor. “you can take these and bring them home right after this, and throw them in the wash. i hate a stain on nice clothes. 

“i want you to think about it,” she requests, knowing all too well what she’s asking for. and as she walks out of the door, she already knows the answer. 

when she returns home and sees a fuming wendy at the edge of the bed again, she breaks into the sliest of smirks. 

\- 

“are you following me?” irene immediately demands. 

this time joy is wearing something supposedly casual, only clad in a white tee and denim shorts. she leans against the wall beside the vending machine, staring at her. 

(five seconds ago, irene noticed her whilst pressing the button below a bottle of sprite, and it took everything in her to not jump and scream. it worked.) 

joy cocks an eyebrow. “what makes you think i am?” 

“there’s no basis – are you or not?” 

there’s that twinkle of interest again in her eye, one that gives her the unnerving feeling that she’s just a lion’s snack, or something else. “like you said, i’m a murderer. i just happen to go places.” 

irene rolls her eyes and crouches down to retrieve her bottle of sprite. “the clothes are in my bag, if that’s what you’re here for. they were pretty hard to wash.” she takes the opportunity to reach into her tote bag and take them out, throwing them up for the other woman to catch. 

she hears a chuckle. “blood stains aren’t my favorite color either.” 

“what do you want?” she asks. 

she turns to see an unconcerned joy, whose face is illuminated by the soft glow of the vending machine. and it shouldn’t capture her so much by the way it makes her realize that for someone who is pretty much a killer, joy is really pretty. not in the way she (probably) manages to seduce every man she meets, but in a fleeting way, like if she leaves this corner everything will peel off and all that’s underneath – black, dripping, sticky – will simply scream and reach out for her. but in this moment, she looks like every average girl, and she is heartbreakingly pretty. 

(if irene needed to rank the moments in life where overthinking was seriously unneeded, this would come first.) 

she only replies, “is this where you work?” 

“yeah,” she offers up willingly. “but i don’t hang around here much.” 

“so you’re a work from home person? why do you go out so much then?” 

she sighs. “i don’t. you just see me when i’m out. and you’ve seen me exactly three times.” 

they stand there for an awkward five seconds before she decides to devote her attention to her drink, opening the cap with a “pop” before raising it to her lips. 

there’s eyes trained on her neck as she gulps the drink down, which was expected, but not fully welcomed. she tries to ignore it, but there is that churning in her stomach again. she just doesn’t know whether it’s a good or bad thing this time. 

she hears a sigh from joy’s lips. “you’re really,” she starts, but she never continues that sentence. 

irene finishes drinking and looks down to avoid her gaze. she’s afraid to know what that something is, and yet something tells her she already does. 

(and, if she ever dares to wonder, better than the other woman ever will.) 

“what do you do?” irene asks, still looking at the floor. 

“i kill for an organization,” joy informs her in a blatant fashion. “and for money, too. i need to eat.” 

“why not any other job?” 

there’s hesitation before she hears anything from her, and irene wonders if anyone has ever asked joy that question before. that’s before joy gives her an infamous shrug. “it’s complicated. also, i enjoy seeing men in pain. and i guess you learn a lot of biology.” 

“are you here to kill me?” she turns her head to the side, seeing a flicker in joy’s eyes. 

the question’s been in her head for the past few days anyway, she might as well ask now. she’s thought about it multiple times: when she was staring at the man’s picture on the tv, when she walked the lane opposite the bar and the crowd seemed way too pressing to be in, when she searched up every sort of poison to paralyze someone and imagined it happening. 

sometimes she doesn’t know she’s imagining it. there’s a variable of the method that ranges from a snapping of the neck to a clean stab in the stomach, and there’s two constants that are the perpetrator and the fact that it often translates into reality. 

(in other words, irene took a kitchen knife once, brought it to her work room, sat down and pressed it against her thigh. and as if in a trance, she did nothing as the skin broke open and blood started to flow. then she freaked out for a good two seconds before grabbing a towel.) 

joy takes a step forward, this time less authoritative and more gentle, as if she’s trying to not startle sheep. she contemplates, her eyebrows furrowing together as she gathers her answer. “no.” 

it’s a soft proclamation, softer than irene would have liked. but it relieves her nonetheless. 

“unless you want me to,” she says. “like i said, i really do kill for money.” 

she laughs. it’s refreshing and it’s probably unwarranted given the situation. god, she might be going crazy. “no,” she says between chuckles. “no, i don’t want you to.” 

slowly, joy smiles. obviously meant to be charming, she walks past irene anyway. “we’ll find each other.” 

it’s obvious irene’s lost some semblance of control when she watches joy leave, the grin on her face full-fledged and lacking regret. 

\- 

it’s a miracle wendy hasn’t killed her yet. 

“did you finish up the job?” joy asks, removing her shoes at the door. the short-haired girl sits on the sofa with that tablet of hers, scrolling though a series of tabs that joy will never bother to know. 

“you mean _your_ job,” wendy replies without looking back up. “yeah, i did. it’s really fucking hard to convince boss that cutting him up like a prized pig was complementary to the task.” 

joy only hums and proceeds to the fridge, opening it in search of a snack. finally, she finds a tangerine that looks half-alright and proceeds to peel its skin. “firstly, it was only one cut. secondly, nothing about it compromised the task.” 

“tell that to him,” wendy says. “why did you do it?” 

“um,” she says in between chews. she only continues after she swallows and she can feel the juice trickle down her throat. it’s quite the pleasant experience, really. the juice is sweet and only comes in small portions, which satisfies her thirst for a minute. “he looked very nice that way.” 

a scoff emits from the other woman. “you expect me to believe that?” 

silence prompts wendy to ask again. “where were you just now?” 

“why, you’re interested in what i do? that’s really sweet.” she begins to suck at her fingers to taste more of the fruit. people have told her that’s a bad habit, but really, does anybody not do it? 

“no, it’s because if you ever end up in a ditch, i’m responsible.” 

something flares in her – annoyance? rage? – as she closes the door with more force than she should, causing a loud _thud._ “don’t worry,” she turns to wendy, teasing. “i’ll never get caught.” 

\- 

joy should start wearing shirts more often. they look good on her when they fit. 

“you bought me a drink?” irene asks. because there really is a bottle of sprite in joy’s hand, which stretches out in her direction. she takes it when the woman nods. “is there anything you want-” 

joy holds up another bottle that reads _diet coke,_ which kind of shuts her up. “i got my own. 

“you know, i thought of you this time,” she starts, suddenly. irene doesn’t say anything. it prompts her to continue. 

“i killed someone,” she supplies helpfully, as irene snorts. “shocker,” she comments. 

“who were they?” 

joy takes a sip of her diet coke before answering. “hopefully someone important. he was so terribly hard to kill, you know – he kept so many fucking guards around and tried to touch me so many times. unbelievable, isn’t it? people want to be alive so bad.” 

out of the corner of her eye, she sees people walk past, having ended their night shift. they move in packs and talk in whispers, and she wonders if they’re talking about them. she thinks yeri is – her body language is way too telling. pointing is a big hint. 

“when i led him to the empty room, he looked so scared, you know? no guards, no backup plans. he tried to throw a jar at me.” the laugh she lets out at that is piercing, and the crowds seem to move way faster than before. “i dodged, obviously. 

“he wasn’t as thrilling as before, he was way too easy to catch.” 

out of instinct does irene remind herself to proceed with caution, looking into everything again – the soft glow of the vending machine, the way joy holds her bottle, the number of people around. she takes some time to pick a response, but joy already has beat her to that. it’s like she wants her to hear her answer anyway. 

“you weren’t there, and i think that’s why it was so boring.” 

“you didn’t watch him struggle enough?” 

“i didn’t get to watch you lose. 

“what if i just picked someone from here and slit their throat?” she asks. “would you stop me then?” 

irene scoffs. “you’d be making a scene.” 

she doesn’t like the way joy frowns, she decides. she also doesn’t like the way the younger woman stops leaning against the wall and starts to walk towards the moving people behind them. and she doesn’t like how her hand immediately shoots out to grab joy’s wrist, stopping her for once. 

_(why, because you want to see it?)_

“are you about to sacrifice yourself or something?” joy mocks, looking down at their hands. 

(irene ignores how joy’s skin is softer than she imagined it to be. it takes her way back to the night she saw her at the bar, when she was just a canvas with no paint. she’d thought it’d be rougher with scars from every struggle or wearier with every face she remembered. but this screams nothing at all.) 

“i thought you only killed when told to,” she answers. “and it’s way too late in the night.” 

heartbeat quickens as joy grabs her forearm with her restrained hand, using the momentum to pull herself closer. she almost braces herself for a sharp point, a fist, a squeeze – but it never comes. 

“i was serious when i said im not here to kill you,” joy reiterates, jaw clenched and grip tight. “you have to believe me.” 

irene really wishes she could. but she fears, just as much, of what happens when everything underneath this woman reveals itself. 

heartbeat quickens as joy presses a kiss to the edge of her cheek. she doesn’t see it coming, she only feels it – soft lips pressing into skin, way too long to be fleeting, and everything about this screams _don’t_ _don’t_ _don’t_ _-_

“they’re gone,” she hears her murmur. “we’re alone now.” 

she cranes her neck to look behind her, and joy isn’t lying. and for a moment, everything calms. 

she grips joy’s wrist tighter and lets out the breath she’s been holding this whole time. god, her energy is sapped. “did i lose?” she mutters. 

“i don’t know,” she admits. 

the way joy stares at her unnerves her. at this point, this is not a game of hunter-and-prey – joy looks like she wants something she can't have. 

irene lets go before her stare can go anywhere else. 

**Author's Note:**

> i most likely won't be continuing this. i do have an entire story planned out with plot and everything, but inspiration comes scarcely so writer's block has stopped me from writing this story as easily as i could. but it's tentative, so enjoy this first and possibly only part :] yes this is inspired by killing eve LOL and was a very good practice in writing
> 
> title's tentative too
> 
> find me @irenesbians or hit me up on curiouscat @ireneshands


End file.
